


A Tattoo Of You In Every Heartbeat

by TimesNewRoman



Series: By Chance or Nature’s Changing Course [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: A warning for implied parental abuse though, And feeling awkward, F/M, I have headcanons, It’s Fryecest yall, Sibling Incest, Tattoos, and i oop, if that wasn’t obvious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25441039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimesNewRoman/pseuds/TimesNewRoman
Summary: Jacob drags Evie out to let off some stress by getting tattoos done, but they’re both avoiding the conversations they should be having about their father and about their newfound aspect to their relationship.AKA Some headcanons my brain took and ran with
Relationships: Evie Frye/Jacob Frye
Series: By Chance or Nature’s Changing Course [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941160
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	A Tattoo Of You In Every Heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kinyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinyth/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a 500-1000 word warmup and turned into a bit of a passion project to put some of my headcanons about the twins’ life before the game. Inspired by a discussion with the lovely Kinyth, and the song Tattoos Together by Lauv

_”Give me shapes and letters, if it's not forever,_

_Then at least we'll have tattoos together”_

* * *

  
As Evie had grown older, her understanding of the world had grown with it. The borders of the known universe expanded from the estate in Crawley to the city itself, then to London and Birmingham and Glasgow and further out to places like India, where her father promised her he would take her one day. It was all so massive and so far away that it seemed infinite from her view.

On nights like these though, Evie found that no matter how large the world outside was, she could never find a place small enough to hide. It didn't matter that she had never been found—it didn't matter that no one had ever come looking. She could tuck herself into the smallest corner of her room and clutch her worn pillow in her arms as hard as she could, but she couldn't escape the sound of the screaming match between her father and Jacob from the study.

This was the third night in a row Jacob had left without letting either her or their father know. It was an act of defiance against Ethan's ever-tightening restrictions since there had been an attack on the estate by the Templars, seeking to strike at the last of the established British Brotherhood. Even Evie was beginning to chafe at his increasing demands. The drills ran longer, their studies became more intense, and Ethan insisted they stay at their estate where they were safest. But where Evie sealed her mouth and wouldn't let her father see the way she was bursting at the seams, Jacob had given up on the pretense of appearing obedient.

Evie couldn't make out the specific words being said through her hands over her ears, but she had heard their arguments enough to know them by heart.

"We are adults now, Father," Jacob would say.

"You are adult  _ assassins _ ," Ethan would fire back, "Which comes with its own responsibilities and privileges."

"Oh, privileges?" Jacob would drawl, "Privileges like having to tell you every time I piss?"

"It’s for your own good! The Templars have clearly grown stronger in London over the last few years and we cannot risk mistakes, especially not now."

And they would continue on and on, back and forth as Jacob tried to assert his independence and Ethan tried to rein in his son's reckless behavior.

Evie buried her face in her knees and held her arms against each other on the top of her head, like if she squeezed hard enough she would wake up to find it was all some horrid dream. 

A door slamming shook the walls of the house and Evie flinched, waiting for her father to come barreling down the hall after Jacob, but the house was suddenly, eerily calm.

The door to Evie's room swung open and she looked up to see Jacob's silhouette in the doorway. In the dim light from the hallways, she could see the frown on his face as he turned, searching for her in the dark room.

"Evie?" He called softly.

She considered staying quiet, letting Jacob give up on finding her, but after a few seconds she replied in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm here,"

Jacob tracked the sound until his gaze focused on the corner Evie had shrunk back into. As soon as he saw her he crossed the room and dropped to his knees across from her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Evie met Jacob's eyes, glittering faintly in the moonlight filtering in through her gauzy curtains. His hair was characteristically messy and his cheeks were flushed slightly. "You were out drinking, weren't you?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "What else is there to do here?"

"Train," she said, though she knew that wasn't a reply that would go over well.

Jacob took her hands in his own and gave her a serious, pleading look. "Besides listening to what father says all the time."

"I do not!" Evie protested, but they both knew it was a lie. True, she didn't obey him out of love, not anymore, but she was obedient. If she did everything right, he wouldn't have any reason to be angry. At least, that was what she told herself.

A moment of silence passed between them before Evie offered quietly, "I wish you wouldn't antagonize him."

"I wish you would stop acting as though he's the perfect father."

Evie pulled her hands away and braced herself against the wall as she got to her feet. "He's not a bad person, Jacob."

"Yeah? How many times did he have to hit you before you decided that?"

"Jacob!" She hissed, turning around as her eyes went wide. He'd only ever hit her outside of the training ring on the green once, and that had been the first and last time she had fought with her father since he'd restricted their comings and goings from the estate. Ethan had immediately apologized, asking her to forgive him, and Evie thought she had, but she still flinched when he raised his voice and there were many days when she couldn't meet his eyes. 

Jacob stood as well and followed her to her desk, where she sat down heavily, striking a match to light a small candle before resting her chin in her palms. The light revealed the titles of the books scattered across the scratched mahogany surface. The desk had once been in Ethan's office, but when he'd received a new one as a gift from India, Evie had begged him to let her have it. It made her feel grown-up at fifteen, to have a desk where she could really research like her father did, and she studiously kept her notes in little journals decorated with the lace she'd made with her grandmother on a short holiday.

Now, five years later, the desk merely served as a reminder of the ways in which Evie had lost herself following in her father's footsteps. At least Jacob had maintained his independent streak—Evie had allowed herself to be totally consumed in becoming the perfect daughter.

Jacob put a hand on her shoulder and she leaned into the touch, resting her cheek on the back of his hand. "I hate it when you go out like that," she said, glad he was behind her so that she didn't have to look at his expression.

He scoffed. "What, when I go out to town for a few drinks?"

"Yes. Especially when you don't tell me."

Jacob exhaled loudly through his nose and took a few steps back as she turned around, his hands spread in a gesture of defeat. "I, Jacob Frye, do solemnly swear that I will not go out to a bloody pub without telling my sister first."

She leaned back in her chair to swat at his chest. "You're impossible."

Jacob leapt back from her hand and Evie rolled her eyes. The laughter provided some much-needed relief from the tension and awkard silences. Besides which, it was good to see Jacob smile a real smile for once, and not one accompanying a sardonic joke or some mocking banter. 

He sat down on the edge of her bed, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands as he watched her and for that moment they simply stared at each other. Evie allowed herself those few seconds to feel what words weren't enough to express: the pain of their father’s sudden shift in personality, the way they had been dancing around their problems for fear of setting him off. 

Jacob's dark brown eyes caught the flickering candlelight, highlighting the mischevious smile that pulled at his lips. "We should leave," he said, breaking the silence.

She blinked. "What?"

"I'm going out again tonight. I thought it was late enough that father wouldn't be awake but I was only coming back for a few quid."

"What for?" Evie knit her eyebrows together, "You're already drunk."

"I'm not  _ that _ drunk," he insisted, "Someone I met a little while ago does tattoos and I fancied going tonight."

She tilted her head to the side, her curiosity piqued now. "Oh? And just what would you be getting a tattoo of, brother dear?"

He grinned widely and stood, unbuttoning his shirt with deft fingers. He pulled the fabric aside to reveal the outline of a falcon just below his left shoulder, talons outstretched and beak open mid-screech. Heat rushed to her cheeks and she forced her gaze not to waver from the tattoo on Jacob's chest, which was on full display now. "Quite dashing," she said, desperately trying to keep her tone level.

"You think so?" He folded his arms over his chest and Evie heaved an internal sigh of relief. "The man who did it, he was a sailor who went to Japan, he said that I had to wait before he could finish to let the skin heal."

She fixed him with a pointedly accusing look. "And you want me to sneak out with you to watch you be poked by a needle for several hours."

Jacob shrugged. "I thought watching me suffer would be something of interest to you, considering how often you've threatened to gut me." He laughed. "Although you could get one too, if you like."

Evie hummed as she considered the idea. She had seen several men with tattoos throughout her life at the various bars and underground spots she frequented while spying for the Brotherhood, but she had never thought of getting one herself. What would she even want marked like that on her body?

The creed was the simple answer, the small symbol of the Assassins that had persisted through the centuries and represented so much more than the simple strokes could convey.

Then, her sense returned to her. Sneaking out, after her father had already let loose a tirade on Jacob? She was only inviting trouble.

Jacob must have sensed her hesitation, because he dropped down so that their faces were at the same height, his nose only a few inches from hers. "I know you're thinking about what would happen if father found out."

She broke from his intense gaze and looked down at her desk. A book was propped open with a fountain pen, a survey of the works of Mary Wollstonecraft. It was one of the few books Evie had read that didn't come from her father's extensive collection. 

Wasn't her father always encouraging them to think for themselves, to question the information given to them? Why was it suddenly different now that he was the one giving the orders?

She spoke before she could second-guess herself. "All right, then."

Jacob gave her a shocked, pleased grin. "Yeah?"

Evie nodded. "But please, let's go before I change my mind."

Jacob slapped his hands down on his knees as he stood. "Meet me at the fountain in five minutes?"

She rolled her eyes again, but her heart was beating with excitement at the prospect of danger and spending time with Jacob outside the estate. He walked backwards out of the room and said before crossing the doorway, "Don't back out on me, Frye."

"You're going to be the death of me," she moaned, but he was already gone and she was already standing to put on a coat. Her constant string of anxious thoughts grew louder when he left the room, but she pushed that voice aside in her mind. One night wouldn't hurt. 

She would just have to be careful.

-

Evie sat primly on the edge of the marble fountain that bubbled quietly in the front drive of the Frye's estate. Sneaking out of her room had been a simple task—she'd been taught how to scale buildings from the time she was six years old—and she now waited impatiently for her brother to arrive.

Finally, arrive he did, his usual leather duster now swapped for a black and red tartan coat with patches on the elbows, though he had rolled the sleeves up to his forearms. His gray cap all but covered the slightly curled strands of his messy hair and Evie took a moment to appraise him before making a show of opening her pocket watch. 

"Funny, I thought you said five minutes, not five hours," she quipped.

Jacob's mouth dropped open in mock hurt. "I'm never late."

"You're never on  _ time _ ," she complained, standing and taking his proffered arm to escort her down the drive. "Although as long as you remain predictable, we can schedule around you."

"I'll have to start arriving early then." He frowned.

"Hmm, yes, if you grow predictable what could you possibly have left?"

"My animal magnetism and debonair smile."

"I'm afraid that can't make up for your abysmal personality."

Their light bickering was a relief to her, some sense of normalcy that had disappeared from their lives. Evie wasn't sure why the attack by the Templars had triggered her father's spiral into paranoia, but it loomed over her as an oppressive weight. For the first time in months, she felt free of its crushing presence.

They made their way to the carriage house, where their battered Clarence stood proudly, like it was trying to display some of its former glory. Jacob disappeared around the back and a few minutes later, returned with Jesse, their spotted brown gelding, and arranged the horse within the carriage's yoke. 

"Poor thing," Evie said absently, "He's already had to put up with your ugly arse once this evening. Now you're just being cruel."

"Truly, you wound me," Jacob replied, securing the reins before hopping up onto the driver's platform. "Shall we, old girl?"

Evie smiled broadly and stepped up onto the seat next to him. Jacob snapped the reins with a murmured encouragement to Jesse and the carriage began its lumbering journey down the road towards the glimmering lights of Crawley in the distance.

They drove in silence for the better part of ten minutes before Jacob asked, "Why were you hiding? When I first came in, I mean?"

Evie looked away, suddenly rather interested in the scrubby landscape around them until Jacob nudged her with his shoulder. "I don't know," she relented, “I'm not like you. I can't solve my problems by fighting them like you can."

"You don't have to hide from me, you know that right?" The question came out with a forced tone of polite curiosity, but Evie had known Jacob long enough to see through the act. There was bitterness in his voice, but not at her. At their father maybe, or towards himself. After all, they hadn’t spoken openly with each other about what had happened between them two weeks prior.

"I know," she said lightly.

"Good."

They continued down the road as the conversation lapsed once more. Evie pulled her arms across her chest and leaned back, letting her head rest on the carriage compartment. With how bumpy the road was, it wasn't the most comfortable position, but it let her gaze up at the stars flickering in the black sky. That gave her an excuse to not have to talk to Jacob anymore.

Her worry returned, her all-too-eager anxiety supplying a string of images of her father noting their absence, of tracking them down and instigating yet another fight, of losing his temper again and flying into one of his fits again that seemed to happen more and more often as the weeks passed. George Westhouse said it was stress, and Evie agreed. That didn't make it any easier on her or Jacob.

The streets of the city were alive in spite of, or perhaps due to, the late hour. The illuminated streets and cheery taverns beckoned the Fryes as they made their way into the city proper. Evie sat up, drinking in the electric energy of the night life around them. It was a Friday evening after all, and many of the factory workers who traveled were back for the week’s end, filling out the populace and giving the impression of a bustling, thriving city.

Jacob waved to a few different men on the streets who called his name and Evie noted, not for the first time, that unlike Jacob she had no real acquaintances beyond those she met in affairs of business for the Brotherhood. Her only real, true friend was Jacob, although George could possibly be added to that list as well. Still, other twenty-year-old girls were being presented to society and enjoying all the trappings their lifestyle afforded. The Fryes came from old money and so ostensibly she would have joined them, had she not been occupied with her duty to the Assassins.

The carriage slowed to a halt and Jacob waved to a young girl waiting on a nearby stoop, ostensibly to watch the carriages of the patrons who lacked a driver. Jacob handed the girl some coin as Evie eased herself down from the carriage. The building in front of them looked to be residential, though from the light and shadow dancing in the windows, there were several people inside.

"Welcome to Sutherland House, Evie," Jacob said, giving a wide gesture to the brick building. "A place for thieves and kings of the dark to mingle."

She raised an eyebrow. "And this is where you had your tattoo done?"

He slapped her back playfully. "Don't tell me you're frightened of a few thugs."

"I'm not frightened of them, I'm frightened that  _ this _ is where you've been spending your time."

"Not all of it," Jacob assured her, "Only a night a week or so."

Evie let her head fall back to gaze at the sky. "Dear God, if you're out there, please do make sure my brother doesn't get his face smashed in for flirting with some drug lord's mistress."

Jacob snorted. "I'm not currently looking, thanks."

"That doesn't matter," she shot back, "Like you said: animal magnetism, remember?"

"What can I say?" Jacob pulled open the door and Evie gave a facetiously polite curtsy before entering. Sutherland House had an imposing interior, with columns of dark stone arranged throughout the room, between which wide tables of solid wood held men and women of varying sorts. Evie had joked about drug trafficking but Jacob wasn’t exaggerating in his introduction.

"Frye!" A burly man with a scraggly beard shouted from across the room, "Finally got yourself a girl, eh?"

Jacob looked between Evie and the man but she put a hand on his arm before he could respond. "It's all right," she whispered, the impulsiveness of her statement shocking her. It was the most she had ever done to acknowledge the few, scattered nights of each other's company, the only other person in the world they knew who understood their own lives. 

But Jacob took it in stride and laughed raucously. "I think she'd wallop me if I tried to say she was  _ my _ girl."

That was true enough. Evie settled into the lie easily enough. "That's correct.”

"Come, sit with us!" The man said, gesturing to the table half-full with assorted other characters, but Jacob held up a hand. 

"We're here to see Al MacCormac, sorry," he said. The name of the tattooist, Evie presumed.

"Oh, he's not here yet," the man said, "Went off for something a couple rounds ago, but he'll be back. In the meantime you should join us. I'm eager to meet your Miss!"

Jacob asked the question with his eyes and Evie shrugged. "Why not? We may as well have a drink. If you're not too sauced, that is." She batted his cap down over his eyes and his smile grew wider.

"The lady has spoken!" He declared, gesturing for Evie to walk in front of him. 

She settled on one of the low-backed chairs, made of the same solid wood as the table. The grain was rough, but there was a charm to it, like it was keeping in theme rather than simply the product of poor craftsmanship. Jacob slid into the seat next to her and slung an arm around her shoulders. "Evie, this is Will Sheffield," he said, pointing to the burly man, and continued around the table, introducing the four others as well.

"Miss Evie, it's a pleasure," said Maida, an older woman whose frizzy gray hair was pulled back into a severe bun reminiscent of a governess. The scars on her face spoke to a rather different occupation however. "You should know that Jacob has a rather nasty habit of making promises he has no intention of keeping."

"Oh, I'm well aware," she said, then froze for a split second, realizing that for as much as these people were unbothered by, knowing she was Jacob's sister would likely push past those bounds.

"I'm surprised he hasn't run off yet," William said with a braying laugh, "You never struck me as the settling down type."

"Well, I'm far from settling down," Jacob replied, then leaned back in his chair to the small bar manned by a willowy man dressed in an apron that seemed to dwarf him. "Gin here, thanks."

"First round on me," William called, "I owe Jacob my life twice over," he said after seeing Evie's quizzical look.

She turned to face him, one eyebrow arched. "Oh? These are some adventures I've yet to hear of."

"All in due time, Evie dear." Jacob winked and let the front legs of his chair fall back on the ground as the bartender set down their glasses. 

"Cheers," Evie said to William before lifting the glass to her lips and emptying it in three seconds flat. She grimaced and laughed as Jacob gave her a look of grudging respect. "You've seen me drink," she said, her tone reproachful.

"It's been a while," he replied.

That was true. She'd had a glass of Madeira in the evenings on occasion but really, it had been months since she'd last properly been to a pub with Jacob. That led down an avenue of bitter thoughts though, so she changed the subject. "He's convinced me to get a tattoo tonight," she offered.

"Good luck," Maida said, snorting. Evie noted that her arms were painted with an array of tattoos of her own, swirling dragons and clouds running up the length of her wizened arms. "It hurts like a son of a bitch."

Evie grinned. "I guess I need to drink a little more then."

Their idle chatter was interrupted by the door opening again. The newcomer was dressed in a worn coat and tall boots, and Evie knew before anyone spoke that this was Al MacCormac. 

"Albert!" William called, just as he'd done with Jacob.

MacCormac didn't reply with Jacob's enthusiasm. He nodded grimly and Jacob stood, pulling Evie to her feet. "How's the missus?" Jacob asked as they approached.

MacCormac gave a nondescript shrug. Jacob smiled as though that were a full response and continued, pointing to Evie. "I'm sorry it took me so long to get back. I had a bit of a run-in."

"I'm Evie," she said, offering a hand to shake, and to her pleasant surprise, MacCormac shook it firmly. 

"He's mentioned you," MacCormac finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly, "He rather fancies you."

"Oh does he?" She gave Jacob another accusatory glare, though this one held a note of a panic. What exactly had Jacob told them about her?

"You're wanting to finish that bird I started for you, right?" MacCormac asked, turning his attention to Jacob, who nodded. "And you?"

Evie frowned a little. "It's...a little complicated to explain."

"Can you draw?" She nodded and he hummed. "Then you don't need to explain."

MacCormac moved past them, stepping up heavily onto the stairs, which creaked under his weight. Jacob gave Evie a boyish grin and trotted up the stairs after him with her in tow. MacCormac pushed open a door, revealing a room filled with dark sketches on the walls, cupboards with little jars and boxes arranged haphazardly, and a low bed with a shelf of unrecognizable tools to its side. It was chaotic and breathtaking and Evie was entranced immediately.

Jacob let go of her hand and took off his jacket, hanging it up on a hook by the door, before stripping off his shirt and sitting cross-legged on the bed roll. Evie crossed her arms over her chest again, watching her brother's growing excitement. This was a side of him she saw so rarely now. Whenever he was at home, he was constantly sullen and defiant. That exterior had shed so easily that Evie wondered to herself how much of his life she had missed by simply assuming these visits were only to clear his head. He had a whole life beyond the estate.

And it was a life he, apparently, didn’t mind sharing with her.

Evie watched with intense curiosity as MacCormac took off his work boots and settled in front of the tools. Jacob lay back on the bed as MacCormac arranged several needles into a kind of brush, bound tightly with white thread. After cleaning the area around Jacob’s tattoo with a damp cloth, he dipped the end into a small pot of ink and gave a few experimental strokes on a piece of paper next to him. Then, he pushed the needle brush into the skin between the outline of the falcon. 

She could see Jacob's jaw tensing as MacCormac moved the needles down, wiping at the excess ink with a stained cloth before repeating the motion. Slowly, the ink took the shape of brushed feathers along the falcon's back and she watched with widening eyes as the picture rendered in skin and ink became clearer.

MacCormac looked up after several minutes and tilted his head to a shelf in the corner. "Paper. Show me what you're imagining."

Evie broke from her reverie and followed his instruction, pulling a sheet of paper from the stack and a pencil on the table next to the shelf. She had drawn the Assassin's symbol over and over in her youth and the shape was muscle memory now as she sketched out the sharp angle and gentle arcs of the familiar glyph. When she handed it to MacCormac, he grunted noncommittally to acknowledge the drawing, but otherwise said nothing.

Jacob gave Evie a pained smile. "It's worth it, I promise."

"Don't be such a baby," she shot back. 

"Never."

MacCormac made a strange hitching sound she realized after a moment was laughter. He was such a solemn man, but she could understand why Jacob liked him. 

Evie could have watched him for hours and found herself almost disappointed when he declared he was finished. He handed Jacob a small hand mirror and he examined the tattoo on his chest with not a little pride. 

"It's lovely," Evie said, though admittedly she was distracted by the rest of his chest and the curve of his abdomen, but stopped herself once again with a few silent curses to herself.

"Your turn," Jacob taunted.

"Where do you want this?" MacCormac asked, holding up the sketch.

Evie stopped. She hadn't considered that aspect of it.

"That's not something you'd want out in the open," Jacob offered, "Considering you're more of a subterfuge type."

That was a fair point. Perhaps it was the liquor swimming in her vision or her blatant lie with Jacob, but she was brazenly emboldened and she dared to ask a question that otherwise would have been appalling. She pointed to her sternum, just below her breasts. "Can you do it here?"

MacCormac shrugged again. "Is that where you want it?"

With no opposition to her request, Evie nodded eagerly. MacCormac squinted at the drawing before snatching up a pencil from his tray of tools and adding a few quick strokes. He held up the page to Evie to show her the delicate vines of leaves that flowed to either side of the symbol and put his finger against her chest, drawing a rough line across her ribs. "With the accents here?"

Her face felt warm from the rather brusque touch, but more so from a flush of excitement. "Yes," she breathed. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

MacCormac nodded and Evie glanced over to Jacob nervously. He gave her an encouraging smile and she sighed before pulling off her jacket and shirt. As she unfastened her corset she snuck a glance to the tattooist, but he seemed totally unfazed. To be quite honest, this was probably rather tame for him. Evie had heard of sailors coming home with tattoos in rather unsavory places. This was practically chaste by comparison.

Still, it felt odd to pull up the hem of her chemise and expose her skin to the air in the company of someone else. Perhaps MacCormac noticed her hesitation, as he didn't pull her chemise up further than where he traced his finger along her sternum to approximate the location of the tattoo. Evie couldn't help but hold her breath as he cleaned the area like he had with Jacob and set the needle against her skin.

It hurt more than she expected and she bit the inside of her lip as MacCormac began working. She turned her head to the side and found Jacob's face, though his gaze was solely on her chest, his breath coming quite shallow. 

"Eyes front," she hissed.

Jacob rolled his eyes and took a seat at Evie's side, resting back on his arms so that they were nearly level with the other. 

"Hurts, doesn't it."

"I've been shot before, Jacob. This hardly compares."

MacCormac laughed again and raised one scruffy eyebrow a fraction of an inch, but didn't press for details. Jacob, as it happened, shared no such inclination to privacy.

"Oh yes, poor Evie. You did nothing but whine about father being absent for six weeks while you were laid up."

Jacob realized his mistake too late and Evie's eyes went wide. She stammered out to MacCormac, "H-he means my father. We--"

"I know what he meant," the man replied gruffly, "I can't be bothered to care."

Evie relaxed, exhaling softly in relief, though she still gave Jacob an angry glare which he pretended not to see. 

The minutes stretched on and Evie closed her eyes, the sharp jabbing of the needles into her skin becoming slightly less intrusive as MacCormac worked. Evie could trace the outline in her mind as the brush moved over her skin, slowly joining the lines together into the symbol of her creed just below her heart.

She and Jacob chatted idly about various nonsense, sports and headlines and weather. The words were all meaningless—it was the act of speaking freely that mattered. Here they were, together, away from Ethan Frye and George Westhouse, away from the estate and their responsibilities and the cloud that had loomed over them for the last three months.

When MacCormac finally handed her the small mirror to examine her chest, Evie gasped softly. It was beautiful, even if it was only an outline of the shape and the skin around the ink was red and puffy. It was like some piece of her own mind displayed on her body, even if she was the only one who would really see it with any frequency.

"It's incredible," she whispered, tracing the line with a tentative finger.

MacCormac grunted. "We can do another session in around two weeks to start the detailing. You know where to find me. And if not, Jacob does."

There was an unspoken order in the tense way MacCormac watched them and Evie was all too happy to obey the silent command to get out. While the man wasn't rude, he was far from cordial. Still, there was a charm to his quiet, rough demeanor.

Evie pulled on her shirt and corset as Jacob counted out several bills for MacCormac, a hefty sum, but worth it certainly, in Evie's opinion. Jacob helped her to her feet and he slung his jacket over his shoulder as he held open the door for her to the stairs outside. 

"So, what did you think of old Al?"

Evie rolled a few words around her tongue for a moment before saying cautiously, "He's an interesting fellow."

"He's bloody talented is what he is. There are a few other people who claim to do tattoos in the Japanese style, but apparently he's the only one in Sussex who can really do it. All the others are in London."

Outside Sutherland House, the sky was turning a misty shade of ash gray and Evie started. "We were there for so long! What if father--"

"Father doesn't know anything, and I intend to keep it that way," Jacob assured her. Sleeping next to the carriage was the young girl Jacob had asked hours before to watch the carriage and he nodded, impressed. "She'd make a fine valet." He tucked a bill into her hand and climbed up onto the driver's platform, holding out his hand to Evie.

"I never asked you," she said suddenly as they made their way through the early morning streets of Crawley, "What did you say about me?"

Jacob, usually so unshakeable, turned a violent shade of crimson. Evie folded her arms expectantly, giving him a pointed look until he finally said, "I told them I had a girl."

"Oh." Now it was her turn to flush red. "Why?"

"Why did I tell them?"

"Why me?"

Jacob swallowed hard and hedged his answer for a moment. "Well, we've...you know." Apparently it wasn't something he was too keen to talk about either, but the evening had stirred in Evie a need again for a kind of closeness she and Jacob had lacked for a long time, even before their father's stress had caused him to snap. 

Evie moved closer to Jacob and rested her head on his shoulder. There was comfort in his stalwart presence, and for as annoying as he could be, he was the one, unchanging constant in her life. As her duties and beliefs changed and her father shifted to a man she no longer knew, Jacob was...well, Jacob.

She dozed off somewhat and her eyes opened as the carriage jolted to a halt. Jacob shook his shoulder a little to rouse her and she sat up, rubbing away the sleep from her eyes. He set to unhitching Jesse from the carriage and bedding the horse down, and Evie leaned heavily against the carriage as she waited for him to finish.

Finally, he emerged again and she took his arm, stumbling at his side up the drive and towards the house. For once Evie was glad that they didn't retain staff—there was no one to eavesdrop and report back to their father.

They slipped in through the kitchen window with a broken lock, Evie giggling softly as Jacob helped to hoist her up over the windowsill. He clambered through and hand-in-hand, they ascended the wide staircase.

But when they reached Evie's room and Jacob began to slide his hand out from hers, she seized his wrist to pull him back as she realized what she wanted.

"Stay?" She asked quietly.

"I'm tired," he protested, "And so are you."

"Nothing has to  _ happen _ ," she said, exasperated, "I...I just don't want to be alone. Not right now." The weight of the house teetered over her once again, threatening to crush her if she stayed too long on the thought of her father's wrath should he discover the evening's activities.

Jacob tilted his head from side to side before allowing Evie to pull him into her room, closing the door behind him with a soft  _ click _ . She kicked off her boots and dropped her jacket on the floor unceremoniously, but when she pulled off her shirt, Jacob stopped her.

"What?"

He wasn't listening to her. Nor did he meet her gaze as he pushed her hands away and pushed the top fastener of her corset from its metal loop. Then the next, and the next, until the garment fell open and Evie shrugged it off her shoulders. 

"I thought you were tired," she accused.

He hummed but didn't reply, sliding his hands below the fabric of her chemise and she inhaled sharply at the rush of heat from the sensation of his fingers on the bare skin of her waist. 

Evie ran her fingers down the front of his shirt, the buttons coming apart easily. She traced the edge of the falcon on his chest with a delicate finger and he closed his eyes as his eyebrows furrowed. Now that she had her hands on him she didn’t want to stop and she let her palms follow the sides of his waist, settling on his hips.

Jacob pushed her arms away and grabbed the bottom of her thin chemise, pulling it up and she raised her arms over her head to accommodate the motion that left her own breasts bare, goosebumps rising on her skin in the slight chill of the morning air.

Like he was in a dream, Jacob put his hands on either side of her chest, his thumbs painting small circles over the outline of the symbol on her sternum. The touch was electric, sparks dancing beneath her skin wherever his hands met her body.

Evie ignored the way her heart raced and tentatively brought her lips to his. The kiss was brief and Jacob leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “We’ll be fine,” Jacob said as he pulled her closer to him. 

She tried to let herself believe that was true. 

“Shall you lead then or shall I?” She asked, and even though she hadn’t meant to, her words sounded deliciously seductive to her own ears. 

He hummed softly into her ear, running his mouth down the side of her neck. “Does it matter?”

And as she pulled him backwards onto her bed, still running her fingers along the raised lines of the tattoo over his heart, she reasoned that no, it didn’t matter.

If she was with Jacob, it didn’t matter at all.

  
  



End file.
